


We'll Be Missing You

by TommysIdiosyncrasy



Series: It's A Long Walk Home, Kid [4]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark May Parker (Spider-Man), Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Minor Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Robbery, Self-Indulgent, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, like super minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:46:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommysIdiosyncrasy/pseuds/TommysIdiosyncrasy
Summary: Slumped against a dirty dumpster, Peter felt the first tears fall. It was the worst fight they’d ever had.She’d screamed at him, demanding answers and the reasons he’d lied and snuck around behind her back. He’d held back the tears trying to escape, doing his best to tell her the story from start to finish.She hadn’t let him get that far.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So,,,,,this isn't Merlin or Harry Potter but I've been feeling inspired and I needed something soft. I'm not sorry

Peter landed roughly on the ground. He looked up, flinching when his Aunt appeared in the doorway. He scrambled to sit up, opening his mouth to plead with her. His bag connected with his rib cage, driving the air from his lungs, and slamming him back again. Their eyes met for a minute and the only thing he saw was hard resolve in her watery eyes.

“Aunt May-!” The door slammed shut.

Panic settled over him, making his heart pound and suffocation was creeping over him. Gripping the pack with shaky hands, Peter took to his feet and left the residence feeling numb.

_This is only temporary,_ he told him as he stepped out into the chilled air. _She needs time._ He ran a hand through his hair with trembling fingers, taking a moment to lean against the icy bricks and breathe. He knew Aunt May loved him, she’d said it and shown him enough times for him to recognize this was true, there was no way she was kicking him out forever.

Peter shoved his hands into his pockets, grateful that his wallet and phone were still on him. The bag she’d thrown at him was the one he often took with him to Ned’s house whenever he spent the night.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic._  

This played on loop in his head as he scooped up his belongings and slouching into the ally beside the apartment. He’d wait out the night and catch May on her way to work, maybe he’d apologize and beg for her forgiveness then.

Peter slid down the wall so he rested in a tight ball, knees drawn to his chin. Guilt and fear raged war in his chest. Guilt for lying, for keeping Spider-Man a secret from his only family member. Fear of the icy night air that’d come knocking at his door any moment, for when it’d burrow into his bones and freeze his blood. He buried his face into his legs, hugging them close.

Peter sat there for hours, unmoving. He could tell each time the temperature dropped, sense the way the sun kissed the horizon. Rested his chin on top of his knees; The air escaping his lungs billowed out in chilly clouds. It was dark, stars peeking out against the harsh street lamps. Peter didn’t shiver.

That’s what scared him the most.

The inability to regulate his body temperature was a big problem during early winter in Queens. Spiders hibernate, teenage boys didn’t. He was more lethargic during winter, but being inside constantly helped. Now, the freezing air was enveloping him into a deathly hug.  

Not shivering meant hypothermia could set in without him any the wiser. If it truly became too chilly for him to handle, then he’d fall asleep and never wake up. Spiders produced antifreeze and Peter wasn't sure if he did, what he knew is that he might not shiver but he got uncomfortable in the winter and felt enough of the wind’s bite to head inside. 

He watched as the night wore on and each time his eyes drooped shut, fear would jolt him awake and he’d remember that he might never wake if he let himself drift off. He used fear like a shield against any oncoming unconsciousness. He had to believe May would come around; That she’d take one good look at her freezing nephew and cave in. Then they’d cry into each other’s shoulders and spend the day on the couch watching her favorite rom coms and he’d explain to her all about his Spider-Man activities.

The door opened, hope filling his chest. He whipped around, scrambling to peer around the corner. He winced, his neck and back popping harshly at the sudden movement. His face fell as he watched an older woman shuffle down the sidewalk. He sat back down, rubbing the knot at the base of his neck. He wasn’t sure if he’d drifted off in the night or not. He hoped he wouldn’t spend another. 

The sound of the door opening again had him on his feet and peering around to watch as Aunt May stepped outside with a shiver. He darted forwards, intercepting her path. She jumped when she saw him, a large burst of frozen air leaving her mouth.

The surprise on her face lasted for a moment before her gaze hardened. May breezed past, barely casting him a look. Hurt punched him squarely in the chest and he watched after her with a stunned, betrayed look as she made her way to their bus stop down the street.

Stumbling back, Peter gasped unevenly. He gripped his hair tightly in between his fists and desperately tried to bring oxygen back into his lungs. Black dots swam in front of his eyes and his heart was pounding in his ears.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his side and someone was shaking him awake.

“-eter? Peter!” He jumped, eyes shooting open. He met the eyes of an anxious Ned. Swallowing, Peter rubbed at his eyes with a small groan.

“Ned? What are you doing here?” He mumbled.

“I could ask you the same thing.” he said. “You weren’t at school and I got worried when you didn’t answer your phone.” He helped Peter sit up, face pinched in concern.

“School?” he asked with a yawn. “Oh no, _school!_ ” Peter shot to his feet, stumbling as he made for his phone. Fumbling with clumsy fingers, he unlocked it and slumped forward with a groan. “I missed it…” Peter hadn’t missed a day of school since he was fourteen. And that was only because he’d been bedridden after the bite.

“Yeah, I thought you were sick or something. Why are you laying in trash?” His eyes widened. “Was it for... the internship?” He asked the last part in a whisper, excitement in his tone. Peter nodded once, glad for the excuse.

“Yeah,” he said, throat dry. “Had to wait for May to go to work and I... kinda fell asleep.” He shot Ned a sheepish look, averting his eyes He felt sick, whether it was from lying to his best friend or from the obvious dismissal from his aunt.

There was a moment of silence and Peter thought he’d suffocate before it ended. He slung his back over his shoulder and gave Ned his best fake smile.

“Well, I need to go pick up groceries for Aunt May,” He could barely bring himself to choke out her name. “See you later, Ned.” He left in haste, drawing his hood up and fighting off tears.

He didn’t know where he was going.

There was nowhere _to_ go. May didn’t want to see him, he couldn’t go to school, and the only people he wanted to see couldn’t know May kicked him out.

If they found out, they’d try to help and he couldn’t let them. They’d pity him. How was he supposed to be a hero if he couldn’t protect himself? So, Peter wouldn’t let anyone know. Not Ned and not MJ. May would come to her senses, she’d realize she couldn’t disown her only nephew. He loved her, he wouldn’t forget that she had been a mom to him when he’d lost his own.

Sniffling, he hunched his shoulders and cut through a back alley he’d often crouch in to change into his suit. He squeezed his eyes shut when he remembered that it was back home, probably still jammed into his closet when he’d hastily shucked it off. Aunt May’s surprised exclamation rang in his ears, the surprised and _hurt_ look in her eyes when she watched him pressed the emblem in the center of his chest. How he’d stumbled to get it off and rush to explain to her, to apologize.

She had stormed out, slamming his door shut before he could attempt to speak. Anxiety, quick and sharp, filled his chest and Peter had never put clothes on so fast in his life.

Slumped against a dirty dumpster, Peter felt the first tears fall because they’d fought. It was the worst fight they’d ever had. She’d screamed at him, demanding an answer and the reason he’d lied and snuck around behind her back. He’d held back the tears trying to escape doing his best to tell her the story from start to finish. She hadn’t let him get that far.

Peter curled into himself, a sob bursting from his lips and wracking his frame. His breathing ragged and the coughs tearing from his chest were all he could hear. Peter felt stuck in this moment of _hurt_ and _afraid_ and he couldn’t escape.

When he calmed himself down, he checked the time again. It was almost four o’clock, school long over and May returning to the apartment even longer away. He tilted his head back, letting it slam into the frosty metal he rested against. He sighed, eyes itchy and nose congested.

“All right,” he mumbled, scrubbing his eyes dry. “Get yourself together, Parker.” He grits his teeth and hauled himself upwards, a new resolve energizing him.

_Okay,_ he told himself. _You’ll live on the streets for a while, no big deal. You need be smart about this, think logically._ So that’s what he’d do. He would apply facts to the problem like an equation and work his way through step by step instead of succumbing to the frantic panic birthing violent butterflies into his stomach. He tried to feel more confident than he was, but it was easier said than done. Peter stepped out onto the street and took a deep breath. _I’m Spider-Man,_ he told himself. _I’ve faced worse and survived._

Peter would be all right, he was sure.

 

 

Peter trembled violently, teeth chattering so hard he feared they’d chip. He couldn’t feel his fingers from where they burrowed tightly into his ribs, white clouds bursting from his lips which were quickly turning blue. The air nipping at any exposed flesh, making his whole body tremble each time the wind gently breathed in his direction. He wasn’t exactly shivering from feeling _cold,_ but more because each breath stung and any moment his body could give out. 

He had a sweater and a thin t-shirt on, nothing more to protect himself with. The sun had set only a few hours ago, bleeding into the horizon and washing the windows all around him orange.

Nothing felt right, his face burned and his skin was numb against the bricks. The stars were cold and distance, shining down with false heat that was millions of light years away.

He could hear cars passing by four blocks away and people making their way home after a long workday. Peter longed to get up and meet Aunt May back at the apartment, she might have finally cooled off and would pity him the moment she caught sight of his blue skin and tear blotched face.

Peter raised his quivering hands to his mouth and breathing warm air over the sore, red tips. It made no difference, the act more of a placebo affect since he had no clue if it was helping keep what little heat he had left. Rubbing his hands together absentmindedly, he wondered how much longer until his aunt would return home.

Raising his phone screen to his face, he squinted at the shaking screen. It was only six in the evening. Lungs aching from the cold, pins and needles bursting in his toes, it all seemed to go on forever, but the sun had only set a short while ago and Aunt May wouldn’t return until around eight or nine. Earlier he’d been so sure he would sit outside and fear the moment it grew too much for him, not this awful feeling of numb discomfort. It was like the spider DNA was brawling with his human genes, fighting over whether he’d suffer through the cold. He could handle the discomfort, he was sure it’d be ten times worse if he’d just been any normal teen. 

A broken sob escaped his burning lips, but he quickly choked back the rest of the tears that wanted to escape. He wouldn’t break down after one night, he’d come back in the morning and Aunt May would have had two full days to cool off. 

Since Ben died, May had never liked being alone in the house. Peter would go spend the night with Ned and she’d sit awake late into the night, feeling uneasy and a deep loneliness. When Peter didn’t return home until late, she’d stay up worrying and fretting until he eventually showed up. It resulted in many nights of tears and frustration, most of them ending with Peter curled up next to May in her bed as they hugged out apologies.

Peter was so lost in these thoughts he barely registered the cold, instead his whole body involuntarily relaxed and soon he was unconscious.

 

 

When Peter woke, it was to the inability to breathe.

His arms twitched and his eyes fluttered open, his lungs constricting in his chest and he coughed roughly. He felt choked, no air was traveling through his lungs. Peter coughed again, the sound more wet, and he sucked in precious oxygen.

Licking his lips, he continued to breathe heavily until he was verging on hyperventilating. His hands were trembling with fear, his chest feeling oddly tight not only from his sudden trouble to respire.

He was on his hands and knees, watering eyes on the dirty ground scuffing up his jeans. Peter drew in a long, shaking breath and stood on weak knees. Rubbing at his chest, he attempted to calm his racing heart after the frightening wake-up. Shoulders twitching, he winced as he stepped farther out from where he’d fallen asleep. Neck pinching uncomfortable from the odd position he’d slept in and lower back cramping. Sunlight shone cold and bright on the frost-covered ground, the surface just melting in the rising heat.

Grabbing his bag, he slung the now damp pack over his shoulder and stepped into the river of communers.

It was hot.

He was cold.

The sun warmed his back but his fingers still felt numb and cool against his warm cheeks, causing him to tuck the red and stinging digits into his sleeves to rewarm them. He made the familiar route home. It was the third day, his second night of sleeping under the star, surely May had reconsidered. She must be worried, probably running late in a hope to catch him before she left for work. She’d still been angry the day before, that’s why she’d blown him off. It seemed unlikely she was mad after two lonely nights in the quiet apartment.

So, Peter made camp along the fence beside his apartment, propping himself up on his backpack and blowing hot air onto his fingertips.

He glanced up at their apartment windows, surprised to see all the blinds drawn and the insides dark. Blinking slowly, he wondered if maybe she’d already left for work. As he thought this, the window to the farthest left fluttered. Eyes shooting to the miniscule movement, hope bloomed in his chest. She’d glanced outside, she must have seen him. Peter rose to his feet, expecting her to come running out with worried eyes and warm arms any moment. Instead, his phone buzzed.

_Don’t come to the house anymore._

The air left his lungs like someone had punched him. Staggering back, Peter glanced up at the blacked-out windows. He grabbed his bag and walked away on shaking legs. He didn’t look back.

And so he ran.

He didn’t know where he was going, instead all he focused on was getting as far away as possible. His mind was blank, like it’d lost connection to the rest of his body and static was all that was being sent out. It buzzed in his ears and drowned out the offended noises people made as he ran into them.

Panting, Peter leant a hand against a tree and propped the other on his knee as he attempted to catch his breath. He blinked tears from his eyes and straightened, whole body twitching with exhaustion. In between two towers of the Queensboro bridge, bright light streaming through the suspender cables where they framed the sun. He didn’t realize how far he’d ran. 

It was a nice winter morning, one he’d like to wake up late on and lazily swing around the city. If it was a Saturday, he would stay out for half the day before heading home for a lunch break either at his place or Ned’s. But it was Monday, and he was sitting on frost beneath the shade of a tall tree bursting with yellow branches. It’d be a nice place to have a picnic, to sit and talk and laugh as the day wore on. But he wasn’t, and it chilled Peter to the bone, even when fingers of sunlight ran over his legs and defrosted the crystals in the grass.

He hadn’t gone to school today; It was probably lunch time by now. He’d promised himself that after he caught Toomes, he’d get his school career back on track. Yet here he was, lounging outside after getting kicked out of the house. Tomorrow, he decided. He’ll go to school tomorrow and focus all his time and energy on his schoolwork. It’d give him a warm place to be during the day and he’d get a meal there. At least, until Aunt May stopped paying his account. His chest tightness with anxiety because _she_ paid for his lunch. She was the adult, she could take him out of enrollment, she could cut him out of her life and he’d truly have nowhere to go.

Ned and MJ were his closest friends but how could he burden them with his mistake? Ned knew about Spider-Man, but MJ didn’t. He’d have to explain everything to her and the thought of telling someone else made him feel sick.

When he’d put the suit on, excitement and adrenaline had fizzed in his veins because _he got it back_. He’d done something right and Mr. Stark had given Peter the suit back. Then he’d heard the laundry basket fall to the floor, turning to meet May’s pale face as she cursed. Ice filled his stomach, and he had flinched when she slammed his door closed. Panicked and shaking, Peter had done the first thing that came to mind and threw the suit off as quickly as he could.

She’d yelled at him. She’d yelled so long and loud that he’d been speechless.

Accusations and demands flew left and right, her eyes filling with tears and her hands yanking at her hair. He’d done his best to placate her, explaining with as few words as possible. When her voice raised to a scream, he’d cried himself then and the whole unfiltered truth burst from his lips. He exposed every lie and debunked every excuse. She’d gone scarily still, her back to him.

He’d reached out, pleading and crying her name. She whirled and slapped his hand away, breathing heavily. Aunt May then stormed into his room and grabbed the bag he’d been packing before finding the suit on his bed. Then he was suddenly on the floor, his body flooding with fear as she threw him to the streets.

“Hey, kid! You can’t sleep here.” Peter twitched, surprised at the voice. He looked up blearily, the dark silhouette of a man blocking out the sun.

“I’m sorry, sir.” He replied, tongue dry like sandpaper. Clamoring to his feet, joints creaking, Peter shuffled away with his head down.  

His heart ached and Peter wanted nothing more than to fall at his Aunt’s feet and beg for forgiveness. She hated him; She wanted him gone after the truth about Uncle Ben came out. He still could remember the way her face drained of all color as she turned away, the story of him acting up because of his newly gained powers; Of how he’d only been able to watch as Ben bled out on the sidewalk.

Uncle Ben’s death was his fault, he knew, but the livid look on her face made it all too real.

Peter wondered for a while after that, the people rushing around died down as most people had started their work day already. People walking by, hands covered by gloves and faces shielded by scarves made him shiver. He had a thin jacket on, the one he’d taken to school, and his winter gear was back home. 

Feeling like a ghost, Peter stumbled through the streets past people with their own lives and problems who paid no attention to the teenage boy shuffling past with his hood up. Peter felt so very tiny in that moment. The entire world had bigger and more important things than a single kid on the streets, even just this block had problems like robberies and fender benders. Peter could step out into the street and he would die, in just a single second his entire existence would end and no one would know who the boy in the dirty jacket was. He would remain unidentified, disappear completely off the face of the earth.

He didn’t realize he’d been standing close to the rushing traffic until he snapped out of his thoughts. Stumbling back, he fled.

Head between his knees, Peter was once again crouching in a dirty alley. This time, he was in the _bad_ part of town. Peter often came here from police reports, swinging in to stop muggers or to evacuate a collapsed building.

He knew there was an abundance of places for homeless people to camp for the night in. The sun was going down; He needed somewhere to go before it was too late. Gang fights and scavenging happened at night.

He slipped through a broken window, feeling guilty despite that it being abandoned. He winced when his palm skidded along a shard of glass, the dark interior making him pause before reaching into his pocket. He had a flashlight on his phone, but the battery was dying and he had no access to any kind of outlet to charge it. Feeling along the wall, Peter slid farther into the condemned building.

Straining his senses, he felt the hairs along the nape of his neck stand up. Even though he knew it was probably because every moment he was away from home he wasn’t safe, but it still put him on edge when his Spidey-sense buzzed at the back of his skull.

Licking dry lips, Peter found a corner and scrunched himself up into a ball. There was no heating in the building, but it shielded him against the wind and it offered a semblance of shelter if it rained.

Even though he couldn’t settle down, his skin prickling with unease, he forced his eyes closed. It made little difference since it was so dark inside, but he needed to sleep. He ignored the hunger biting along the lining of his stomach, wrapping his arms around himself to calm himself. Peter wanted to cry and curl up so tight he disappeared, but he needed to sleep and go to school tomorrow. It was the high school of his dreams, a place where people who love science as much as him go, he couldn’t give up on it even if the rest of his life was spiralling out of control. He would keep going until the inevitable day when payments ran out. Peter feared with every cell of his body she might pull him out of enrollment. It made his stomach lurch and his palms sweat.

A snuffling sound reached his ears, startling him. He sat still, straining his ears to decipher what it was. It was getting closer along with the gentle padding of feet along the wooden floor. Peter slowly rose from his spot on the floor, sliding his feet into a defensive stance. He didn’t know who was there or what was coming his way; He disregarded his spider sense ringing in his ears and moved away from where he heard it coming from. It was bad news and icy terror was sliding down his spine.

His whole body jumps when a dog barked, the sound right there in the room. Peter’s eyes had adjusted enough where he could barely see outlines but he’d completely overlooked the slick figure slipping into the room as knee height. Now, he locked eyes with the shining dark eyes of a dog that was growling low in its throat. Teeth gleamed in the dark and Peter dodged just when it lunged.

Panting, he scrambled blindly through the dark room. Hot breath pressed against his calves, the dog’s teeth snapping together sent Peter’s heart beating erratically. His ducked, sensing the snarling leap and evading the claws that desired to rip into his flesh.

Peter’s ankle rolled suddenly, the floor he stepped on caved in and he slipped through a hole of rotting wood. Groaning on impact, Peter hoped he had broken nothing as he hobbled to his feet. He heard barks and scrapping above and he glanced up to see the dog foaming at the mouth as it danced around the hole, straining to not fall in but still glaring down at him with its hackles raised.

Clutching his aching wrist to his chest, Peter hurried out of the building in fear that more of the floorboards would collapse. The moment outside air touched his flushed cheeks, Peter knew he was in trouble.

Two or three men were squatting against the blackened bricks, like someone tried to burn it to the ground. They both had cigarettes dangling from either their mouth or their fingers, the white ends glowing orange in the dark. Peter squinting, cursing his bad night vision. Squinting, he almost groaned when he saw them rise to their feet quietly at his arrival.

“Uh... hi there.” He squeaked out. “Pleasant night for a stroll, real nice weather. Welp, I best be off.” Peter had every intention to stroll back inside, he’d rather face a rabid dog than three grown men without his web shooters _any day._ To his dismay, the previously furious dog trotted right past him and pressed against one of the guy’s legs.

“You seem a little lost.” One of them say. Peter almost rolled his eyes at the cliche line. “Was wondering where Raphaël was running off to.” Peter swallowed, he always thought men with accents were evil. He gave a sharp whistle and the dog, Raphaël, was suddenly back to his foaming angry demeanor.

Creeping forwards, radiating dominance, Peter had never felt so intimidated by a german shepherd.

He thought he’d have to make a run for it, or fall to his knees and beg for mercy, when there were suddenly three flashlights shining into the dark and a deep voice was barking for them to get on the ground. Caught up in his fear and adrenaline, Peter had completely missed the sound of a car rolling down the streets. The flashing lights and shouting of police officers sent them into chaos, the men scattering and pushing past armed men. Peter slipped behind the dumpster and waited with bated breath, the sound of shoes slapping the concrete was all he could hear for what felt like hours. Sighing in relief, Peter crawling out from his hiding place and scaled the side of the building. Painful spikes of ice shot up his fingers, the bricks held no warmth as he dragged himself upwards.  

Air puffing harshly from his lungs, Peter collapsed onto his back on the roof. His feet were numb, and he had broken out into a cold sweat, shivering violently.

Rolling onto his side, Peter hugging his bag to his chest. He wanted to cry, water gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was Spider-Man; Wasn’t he supposed to be an Avenger? Peter could do this. He’d fought Captain America and held his own. He’d lifted a collapsed warehouse off his shoulders and walked away to fight another day. Sleeping in the cold and the deep-rooted loneliness that seeped from his chest didn’t come close in comparison.

Peter sniffled pathetically, pressing his face into the uncomfortable fabric of his bag. Awkward lumps and hard edges dug into his face but he decided that he didn’t care.

_I’ll find somewhere better tomorrow._ He promised. _I’m Spider-Man, I can do this._

But lying on the unforgiving surface of an abandoned roof, alone and shivering, Peter had never felt less like a hero.


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping down into the subways, Peter dragged a hand along the stairway railing so he didn’t fall over. He was unsure when the last time he’d gone this long without food was. 

As he walked, it grew colder before it stabilized. The warm bodies made it a relatively normal temperature in the underground. The sound of subway cars screeching brakes and pounding wheels on the tracks made him flinch, the people crowded around him kept him from stopping. Despite wanting to turn back from the loud input, Peter made his way to the dirty stations and slipped through the crowd as subtly as possible. He wasn’t a customer; He wasn’t buying a ticket, so he knew they’d kick him out if they caught him loitering. Homeless people gathered in the darkest corners during the nights, he remembered feeling sorry for the dirty group of people huddled together as he traveled home after sundown. Now he was one. 

Since it was just past midday, most of their hideouts were empty but they were there still. Eyeing him warily and pulling their meager belongings closer as he walked past. Drawing his hood over his eyes, Peter avoided eye contact. He wanted none of them to see him as a threat or to start any fights, not when he couldn’t defend himself. He was a scrawny teen, no visible muscle mass under his baggy clothes and a rather pathetic appearance would raise suspicion if he suckers punched one aggressive bum through a wall. 

So, he’d gather supplies and take inventory during the day before heading down here to camp out at night. Peter knew it was risky, there was a possibility of him getting arrested. He didn’t want that on Aunt May. There wasn’t another place he could find on short notice, he knew nothing about living on the streets, so he’d deal. He’d walked away from so much worse than a few nights outside

Crouching in a dark corner, he kept his bag in his lap as he riffled through it. He’d been planning on having a sleepover with Ned, packing everything in advance for the weekend like he usually did. Then he’d spotted the bag with the Spider-Man suit, immediately abandoning his task.

He had his wallet on him, his phone, a pair of pajamas, some clothes to change into, and bathroom necessities. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and rested his head against the tiled wall. 

_ Think, Peter. _ He zipped his bag close after pulling out the sweater he’d fortunately packed.  _ You’re smart, you can do this.  _ Sliding his jacket off and pulling the warmer garment over his shirt, he felt a little better. He could just layer up with the few clothes he had, he had no access to a washing machine, so he’d just recycle his clothes until he washed them. No one would notice, not when his wardrobe wasn’t very diverse to begin with. 

Stomach rumbling, Peter decided it was time to find something to eat. He winced when he stepped into a dirty puddle, the unwelcoming chill rushing up his leg as he shook water off himself. Outside, it was colder but brighter. The wind turned his face pink, and he was quick to bury his mouth into the warmer fabric of his jacket.

He only had forty bucks in his wallet, he would have to be careful with it. Going to one of the homeless shelters or a food bank made his face flush further with chagrin. Peter couldn’t do that, not when there were people who needed it much more than himself. People who’d been on the streets for years or even for their entire lives, he couldn’t take that away from them. Instead, he’d buy only what he couldn’t live without and get creative with what he could. 

His stomach gurgled angrily. 

Peter loathed returning to the biting wind and frosty air, but he needed food. Without it, his enhanced metabolism would eat him from the inside out. A groan escaped from his lips when he stepped outside. 

It was snowing. 

Usually, he was ecstatic for the first snowfall of the year. Now, he grimaced in dismay and drew his hood farther over his head. It was uncomfortable; The flakes fell into his shoes and melted into his socks. His hood was quickly weighed down by snow and it fell into his hair, making the locks stick to his forehead as they grew damp. He pushed them away, annoyed. 

Peter was heading towards a dollar store, he knew there’d be cheap stuff to tide him over until he could afford a full meal. He was about to walk inside when he stopped. A man was standing in front of the doors, half of the lights inside were off. To anyone outside that’s what it looked like but with his better sight Peter could see the broken glass and that someone had forcefully shattered them. 

The base of his neck tingled and Peter watched as a man pulled a gun on the cashier in the dark corner of the room. He squinted, making out the tears falling from their eyes. 

Peter was about to step in, shove the man aside and web up the man with the gun. Then, he froze.

He was just Peter. 

His heart did a funny little spasm in his chest and he froze, eyes wide.  _ You’re no superhero without your suit _ . He was just plain old Peter Parker. 

For a moment, Peter considered barging in despite this. Maybe he could keep his hood in place and kick their butts half blind, his senses were good enough where he might get out relatively unscathed. But the risk was too great, too much could go wrong without a real mask. 

His stomach clenched sickeningly, and he inhaled snowflakes from the air. 

He was powerless, utterly useless. Peter suddenly realized he has his phone.  _ Call the police,  _ he reached into his pockets.  _ Let them handle it.  _ Before he could dial, there was a loud bang, and he jumped. The two men ran out from the store, clutching bags of stolen goods and money. 

They barely sent a second glance at the boy in the dirty sweatshirt. 

Peter shakily approached the doors, swinging them open slowly. His shoes crunched over glass, white frost curled around his ankles from a broken freezer he passed by. 

Time seemed to slow down as he carefully made his way to the checkout counter, the cash register drawer hanging open and empty. Laying his hands hesitantly on the smooth surface top, Peter leaned over to peer down at the floor.

The cashier stared back up at him with a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. 

Peter stumbled away from the counter, the growing puddle of blood pooled along the white linoleum. He turned away, bending double and throwing up. 

His head swam and the blank eyes of the teen who’d only been a few years older than himself flashed in his mind. He was still a kid, maybe 17 years old. Peter had done nothing to stop him from dying, his entire life had been ahead of him. The teen had friends and family waiting for him to come home.

_ Oh God, his family.  _ Peter thought, feeling nauseous again. 

He rushed out, falling to his knees in the snow. He could hear sirens in the distance, someone must have called the police when they’d seen the men run out with guns and stolen goods. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hands, got to his feet and ran.

Tony Stark was not a very observant man. 

Specializing in mechanics and AI, he found himself inept to social interactions. Instead of awkwardly navigating his way through them like everyone else, he stuck to the mechanical friends he made and pushed everyone real away from him.

Peter Parker was an annoying kid and often a liability Tony had regretted dragging into his fights. Then he took a deep breath and really looked at the kid. 

Peter Parker was so much more than a kid. 

Despite the baffling amount of messages and calls he gave an irritated Happy, Tony had listened to them and sometimes would play them in the background when his head was pounding too hard for his normal music. 

He had feared with all of his being he would become his father if he allowed Peter to get anywhere near him, he couldn’t do what his father did to him to someone so young. Paying more attention to Peter had just lead to the inevitable: Tony caring for the brat. 

So, when no messages or updates received in almost a week, it had confused Tony. Maybe the kid needed space, or maybe his Aunt had grounded him. He refused to allow himself to worry, Peter wasn’t a baby and Tony wasn’t his dad. 

Still, he wondered if he could use this as an excuse to invite the kid to his lab. He’d been playing with the idea for a while now. The kid was smart, incredibly so, he could be a big help in the lab. 

_ Not just because sometimes I’d rather hear those stories in person rather than over the phone an hour after the fact.  _

Tinkering quietly as AC/DC blasted through the room, Tony vaguely wondered if he should call now. It was probably past the normal time Peter would get home from school and he should pick up if his Aunt is already at work. 

“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” He called, the music automatically adjusting itself so the AI could hear him. “Call the kid, would ya?” 

_ “Calling Peter Parker.”  _

It was silent for a moment as F.R.I.D.A.Y. contacted Peter, his music stopping completely. 

_ “No reply. Should I leave a voicemail?”  _ Tony frowned, usually the kid would pick up immediately, even if he was in the suit.

“No. Give me the recent Spidey-Suit activity.” 

_ “There has been no recent activity in Karen’s reports, sir.”  _ F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him. 

Tony blinked, taken back.

“ _ None _ ?” He ran a grease-covered hand over his goatee. “Cancel any immediate plans I have, I’m heading out.”

_ “Of course, sir. _ ” 

Maybe it was presumptuous to show up uninvited to the kid’s place, but it was abnormal for Peter to not pick up after the first ring. Even odder when he didn’t pick up the second time Tony called in the car. 

Now his heart was beating faster than normal as he pulled up to their residence. He tried to tell himself to remain calm as he walked up to the front doors. He buzzed their apartment. 

No answer.

Tony’s heart gave a funny little stutter.

He was being ridiculous; The kid was probably just at his nerdy friend’s house. There was no need for Tony to freak out. 

Still, his chest tightened, and he remembered the panic that’d shot through his system when Happy had called to inform him the Vulture had taken down a Stark airplane with Peter on board. The wreckage he’d left behind, the condition Toomes had been in, he’d felt sick as he imagined how Peter must have looked.

He had taken his stupid  _ onesie _ to the fight. Tony still felt prickles of guilt each time he remembered that the kid had been almost defenseless because of him. 

He’d made a promise to himself, that he wouldn’t take away the Peter’s suit again unless it was 100% necessary. Tony also promised he’d treat the kid better than he had been previously.

Tony slid back into his car, calling for F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Can you track the kid’s phone?”

_ “Tracking now.”  _

It was quiet for a long moment, Tony trying his best bit to tap the steering wheel impatiently. 

_ “I have successfully located Peter’s phone.”  _

He sighed in relief. “Put it into the GPS-”

_ “Signal lost.”  _

Tony froze, staring incredulously at his speakers. 

“What do you mean you  _ lost _ it?” he demanded. 

_ “It seems like Peter’s phone died moments after I located it. I have saved the location he was last in.”  _

He sighed, thankful he’d made F.R.I.D.A.Y. so smart. “Put his location into the GPS with the shortest route to get there.” 

_ “Already on it.”  _

Tony tried to abide traffic laws but in his haste to reach the kid, he might have ran a few red lights. 

Tony frowned as he followed the route to the far left of town where abandoned subways teemed with the homeless and more crime went on than almost any other part of Queens. His blood ran cold when he imagined the kid here, the kid who refused to use his powers on people to defend himself. The kid who did everything to protect the little guy. 

_ “You have arrived, sir.”  _

Tony stepped out of the car, grimacing at the rundown buildings lining the streets. There wasn’t anything here that seemed like a place where Peter might be why he’d ever go here was beyond him. He was about to go back into the car and yell at F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Peter was definitely  _ not  _ there when he saw something. 

A small burst of color against the grimy street. Tucked away between a dumpster and a condemned Thai place, Tony could see a small figure slumped over. He practically ran over, kneeling on the ground and peered into the crack where someone had squeezed into for shelter. 

Reaching out, praying he was wrong, he grasped their shoulder and gently tugged them out. Peter’s dirt-smudged face rolled into view.

Tony bit back a curse and scooped the boy into his arms. He should have been all dead weight, but he found it scarily easy to lift the kid up. Running back to the car, Tony set him down across the seats. He couldn’t tell whether Peter was unconscious or simply sleeping. 

The drive back to the compound seemed to take far too long, every minute he didn’t know if the kid was okay sent his heart pounding. 

  Sprinting through the deserted halls, Tony burst into the Medbay and started Bruce from the book he’d been reading.

Neither of them said anything, Bruce took one look at Peter and immediately ushered him towards one of the empty beds. 

Tony paced beside his bedside, periodically sending the pair a look to gauge Peter’s condition from Bruce’s expression. 

It felt like hours passed by, the only sound being the steady beep of Peter’s heart monitor. Tony was grateful for the constant reminder that the kid was alive. 

“Tony.” He was instantly by his side, gazing down at Peter’s relatively cleaner face. His hair was a curly, tangled mess, and he desperately needed a shower but all Tony could see was Peter’s obvious weight loss. He looked so small, the kid that was always so lively and energetic was now withering away right in front of his eyes. 

“He’ll live.”

A breath Tony didn’t realize he’d been holding escaped him, his shoulders slumping in relief. Bruce fiddled with a machine and sighed. 

“He’s in pretty rough shape, though.” He reached out and pulled his hoodie out of the way, exposing his torso. Tony grimaced at the overly defined ribs and hip bones. Peter had always been a skinny kid, but this went way past that. He looked like a skeleton. “Obvious malnutrition and severe hypothermia to his ears and toes. There’s mild to severe lacerations on his palms and knees, skin has grown over shards of broken glass and infection has already set in.” 

Tony whistled through his teeth, reaching out to run a thumb underneath one of his severely bagged eyes. He glanced down at the tiny wrist with an IV sticking out from a dark blue vein. He never thought he’d see Peter like this. 

“I’ll do my best, I’m not a medical doctor, but there’s a possibility he could have damaged a nerve or artery beyond repair.” 

Tony nodded, not taking his eyes of Peter. 

“I trust you Bruce,” He said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an angry Aunt to face.”

 

When Peter woke, he was almost disappointed. 

He’d been so relieved when he’d finally passed out, that the pain and hurt and emptiness was ending. 

Now, he was blinking slowly up at a cream-colored ceiling. Wry amusement curled his lips into a hard smile. When he’d finally been okay with fading away, here he was waking up in a soft bed.

_ Well, after sleeping on the ground for a week any bed is gonna feel nice. _ Peter reached up and rubbed at one eye, the muscles twitching. He frowned when there was an unpleasant tug on his wrist, glancing down to see a needle sticking out from his flesh. 

_ “It’s nice to see you again Mr. Parker.”  _

His whole body jerked in surprise, looking around wildly for the source of the voice. It was smooth and female, detached from any physical body he could detect. 

_ “Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your waking?”  _ Peter suddenly remembered F.R.I.D.A.Y., Mr. Stark’s AI. Despite knowing she wasn’t an actual person, his hands still trembled uncontrollably. He nodded, his throat tight. He hoped she could see him. 

Peter sat up, letting the thin blanket pool in his lap. His jacket was gone, along with the pants he had been wearing. In their place was a clean pair of boxers and a soft sweater Peter had never seen before. He stared down at his legs someone had bandaged which from his knees to his toes. Patches of bruised skin peeked out from between the strips of bandage.

The palms of his hands were no longer covered in dark scabs, instead they were clean and a healthy color of pink. The tips of his fingers wrapped, the digits aching when he flexed them.

“Hey kid.” 

He jumped, twisting around to see Tony Stark leaning against the doorway. He was wearing a stained wife beater, a pair of grease-covered gloves tucked under one armpit.

Peter didn’t reply, his hands curling tightly around the blanket as he continued to stare with large eyes at his almost-mentor. When he stepped into the room, Peter flinched.

Mr. Stark paused, a frown pulling at his face. “You okay there, buddy?” He swallowed, his knuckles turning white from the tight grip he still had on the sheets. The boy remained quiet. “Do I need to get Bruce? Are you hungry? You gotta talk to me, kid.” 

When there was no answer, he sighed and made his way over even when Peter leaned away with a frightened expression.

His heart was pounding, the warm memories of Tony being washed away with an intense fear. Thankfully, he didn’t sit down in the chair by Peter’s side. He stood there, looking a little awkward. 

“Look,” he started. “I don’t know what happened and why you were out there half dead, but you should talk to your Aunt. I haven’t been able to get through to her yet but I’m sure she’s worried si-”

He cut himself off when he saw the large tears sliding down Peter’s face. He spluttered, frantically backpedalling as Peter sniffled softly into his hands. 

“Hey—wait. There’s no need to cry… I wasn’t trying to pry—aw jeez.” Mr. Stark hesitantly reached out, but stopped himself. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked hesitantly. 

Peter wanted to shake his head immediately, to deny the man. He didn’t want Mr. Stark, the man he idolized so much, to see him in such a way. To see him broken, hurt and crying like a baby. But, before he could collect his thoughts, his lips moved without his permission.

“Aunt May… s-she kicked me out.”

The admission hung in the air between the two.

“She what?” He asked, face drawn.

At that simple question, the entire ugly story burst from his lips and Peter blubbered out the truth much akin to when he’d confessed everything about Spider-Man to his Aunt. His stomach tightened, anxiety filling his head as he spoke.

Dozens of scenarios played through his mind, each one getting increasingly worse than Mr. Stark remained unmoving after he’d finished his tale. Expression unreadable, he turned and walked out of the room, his gloves dropped and forgotten on the floor. 

Pressing a fist into his mouth, Peter tried to keep it together but the tears and panic he’d been holding in so long were escaping. He’d promised himself that when he was back on his feet, he could break down then, but his mind was swirling down into a dark spiral and his thoughts were dragging him into the dark as he collapsed into a sobbing mess in bed. 

He barely noticed when F.R.I.D.A.Y. dimmed the lights to help calm him or when his stomach spasmed and caused him to gag almost an hour later. 

Only when he leaned over the side of the bed to vomit did he try to breathe.

Running footsteps made him freeze, and he flinched when the door burst open. Mr. Banner stood there, face pinched in worry. Peter’s entire body was trembling, but that didn’t stop him from scrambling away when the man drew close.

“Peter, listen to me. You’re in serious distress and you shouldn’t be aggravating your wounds like this.” The roaring in Peter’s ears drowned out Mr. Banner‘s words. 

When Peter showed no signs of calming, Bruce grimaced in apology as he gave him powerful sedatives and knocked the panicking boy unconscious.

 

“Talk to me, kiddo.” 

Peter didn’t answer, laying on his side with his back to Mr. Stark. When Peter had woken to swollen eyes and tears crusted to his cheeks, he buried himself under the blankets and had refused to resurface for most of the day. Now, he was trying to stop the tears pooling on the sheets as Mr. Stark tried to prompt him into looking at him. But Peter didn’t want to talk, not when he knew it ended with the man he looked up to kicking him out just like his Aunt. 

Shame settled heavily over him, his legs curled up towards his chest. He wanted to disappear, to sink into the blankets and never emerge. No one wanted him, not his family and not the people he loved. Aunt May was his family, she was all he had left, but she hated him. Mr. Stark thought he was a weak child, he’d never want him to darken his doorstep again after seeing him like this. 

Taking in a deep breath, Peter hoped that Mr. Stark would give up if he stayed silent. Eyes squeezed shut, he waited for the sound of him leaving. 

“Peter.” He grimaced into his pillow, he wasn’t leaving. Sighing, he sat up and steeled himself from the inevitable. Chagrin choked him as his hero got a full look at his snotty, flushed face. 

“Oh, Peter.” He cringed when a warm, calloused hand cupped his cheek. His eye shot up in surprise, tears clinging to his eyelashes. Tony dried his tears, feeling only a little awkward when Peter continued to stare at him. Tony had always been hesitant to engage in physical contact, it’d never been a part of his life when he was younger and he’d stopped caring as much in adulthood. of it throughout adulthood. After a while, he’d just shied away from it all together. Now, as he stared down at the kid with big brown doe eyes and messy curls, he didn’t mind it as much.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking away. Mr. Stark shook his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Don’t be,” Peter glanced up at him through his eyelashes. “Your Aunt, she’s in the wrong here. Not you. You might have lied to her for a long time but it was to protect her, yeah? Nothing to be sorry for, not when it’s not your fault.” 

Peter leaned his hand, warm spreading through his chest. Since she‘d kicked him out, he had gotten no hugs or soft touches from anyone. Aunt May had been his main source of affection, now he felt starved for it and wanted to curl up in a ball and finally relax. Laying on the wet ground, freezing through the night, Peter couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything other than despondency. 

“Okay.” He murmured. 

“How bout you get more rest, bud.” He’d never heard the man’s voice so soft and Peter’s heart ached for a long hug, but instead he nodded and laid back down. Tony ruffled his hair gently, standing. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.” 

Peter yawned, falling asleep rather than passing out from exhaustion. 

And when he woke, he didn’t feel like a block of ice. Peter had never been so thankful for heating units. The blankets held him warmly and the sleeves of his sweater covered his bandaged fingers. 

He lazed about for almost an hour, caught somewhere in between a state of being awake and asleep. He didn’t worry about getting up before any authorities found him; He didn’t fear someone would rob him as he slept. No thoughts in his head except for how comfortably heavy his limbs felt. 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, only that when he peeled his eyes open, the sun was high in the sky and his stomach was rumbling. 

_ “Good afternoon Mr. Parker.”  _

He jumped, his system flooding with adrenaline. He sighed, pressing a hand to his chest to calm his erratically beating heart. 

“I-it’s just Peter.” He told the AI. 

_ “All right Peter. Would you like me to inform Mr. Stark you’re awake?”  _

“No, but thank you.” He swung his feet over the side of his bed and stood up on shaking legs, holding tightly onto the bedside rails until they bent. He let go quickly, guilty. “Uh… where is Mr. Stark?” he hesitantly asked. 

_ “Mr. Stark is up in his personal lab.”  _

“Am I allowed to go up there?” She paused.

_ “Mr. Stark has given his permission for you to join him.”  _ Peter flushed. He hadn’t meant for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to ask but he guessed he’d apologize for intruding when he got up there. 

“Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y.” 

_ “You’re quite welcome, Peter.”  _

He couldn’t help smiling, making his way unsteadily to the elevators. He frowned, unhappy that he’d gotten so out of breath from walking down the hall. He was Spider-Man, he’d been back flipping across town and nabbing baddies for a year, he couldn’t let something so small affect him like this. 

Peter awkwardly shuffled into the lab, glancing around for his mentor. He found him blasting rock music, tinkering with an Iron Man gauntlet as he bobbed his head to the beat. 

He didn’t want to startle the man or touch anything he shouldn’t, so he stood there in the corner and waited quietly until there was a pause in the music to call out for Mr. Stark. 

When he did, the man jumped, and a screwdriver clattered to the ground. Peter rushed over to pick it up, stuttering apologies. 

“Jeez kid you can’t do that to me. I have a heart condition.” Mr. Stark said, clutching his chest. 

“I-I’m sorry-”

“It’s all right, kid. Give me some warning next time.” Peter nodded, wrapping his arms around himself. “What can I do ya for?” 

“I just… didn’t want to be alone.” He murmured, embarrassed. Tony’s eyes softened. 

“That’s fine, kiddo.” He said. 

“I also wanted to say… thank you, Mr. Stark.” He forced out. “F-for taking me in an’ stuff.” 

“It’s no problem, really.” He said, cutting off any protest from Peter. “You can stay here for as long as you want to, I really don’t mind. You’re a good kid.” Peter blushed, but nodded in thanks. 

Tony waved for the kid to come closer, gesturing towards the gauntlet. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?” Peter nodded eagerly, leaning in. 

He felt privileged that he could watch Tony Stark work on  _ the  _ Iron Man suit. He knew he could spend hours like this without growing bored, the technology he saw and the things Mr. Star told him were incredible. 

“You should probably go to bed, it’s pretty late and you should still be resting.” Peter blinked, surprised. It was almost midnight. 

“All right, Mr. Stark.” He yawned. 

Peter must have moved too fast or done  _ something _ because when he stood, the entire world blacked out and his head spun. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground in a puddle of his own sweat. Tony’s worried face stared down at him, eyebrows pinched together.

“Kid, can you hear me?” Peter sucked in a slow breath, nodding once. “You hit your head on the way down, you shouldn’t move quite yet.” He licked his lips, tears gathering in his eyes. He grimaced, shame washing over him as he realized he was crying over falling over. He heard Mr. Stark curse under his breath. “Hey, you’re good. I know it was scary just… no need to cry.” Peter could tell he was trying, even if he didn‘t understand what he was doing. He rubbed at his eyes, sitting up.

“I-I’m okay. Just got dizzy.” He nodded, helping Peter to sit up. 

“Just take it easy, Pete.” Mr. Stark helped Peter limp over to a chair, his face twisted in pain. He met the mechanic’s eye, wondering why he looked so upset. “She did this to you.”

“Wh-what?” Mr. Stark shook his head, eyes angry. 

“You were living on the streets for a  _ week _ , kid. If you’d stayed out there any longer,  you could have  _ died. _ No kid should have to worry about survival every moment, scrambling for somewhere to sleep and fearing that they wouldn’t wake in the morning.” Peter realized he was holding his hand tightly in both of his own, his gaze sincere. “Peter, you didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve  _ this _ .” He chewed on his lower lip, not knowing what to say. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. I just-” 

“Don’t finish that thought, kid.” He said, voice stern. “You’re not fine, we both know it. There’s nothing wrong with not being okay, especially since I’ll make sure your Aunt goes away for a long time for this.” 

“But-!” he started. He held up a hand to stop them.

“No. There’s no excuse. Look at the shape you’re in,” He pointed down at Peter’s bruised and battered body. “This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for her.” Peter didn’t blame Aunt May, but he didn’t want to argue with Mr. Stark. He might feel hurt and betrayed because of her, but she was still his family. 

“Y-you’re not really going to arrest her... right?” He snorted, shaking his head. 

“Don’t worry about that, kiddo. Just leave it to me.” Peter frowned, but it probably looked more like a pout. “All right, c’mere.” Large arms were suddenly holding him tightly in a hug. 

“M-Mr. Stark?” He asked. 

“Don’t make it weird, just enjoy the hug.” Peter grinned, reaching around him and relishing in the hug.

“I might not be a great example and I’ll probably mess up more than not, but it’d be kinda nice to have a spider nerd around here all the time.” 

Peter sniffled, laughing wetly. 

“I’d like that, Mr. Stark.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone would ever be willing to read some of my stuff before it's published and give feedback, hit me u p  
> my Tumblr is lonely-pages-of-ink


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